The Christmas Con
by spaztronaut
Summary: In order to convince his parents and his ex that he's changed, Oliver Queen hires a stranger to be his girlfriend for the holidays. Felicity Smoak is as far from his type as possible, with her dark hair and attitude problem, but a bottle of hair dye and a new wardrobe—not to mention the money he's promised—can do wonders, and if he plays his cards right this might actually work.
1. Chapter 1

Oliver groaned, his legs tangling in the thick down comforter as he rolled over onto his back and blinked into the early afternoon sun streaming in through the window. Squeezing his eyes shut, he turned onto his side, his hand coming to rest on the warm expanse of skin beside him.

He grinned, his eyes still closed tight, as he ran his palm down and over the smooth curve of what he knew was probably a great ass. He couldn't quite remember who the ass belonged to or what he'd done to wake up next to it this morning—or afternoon, whatever—but he knew that even blackout drunk he still had impeccable taste. Oliver rubbed his eyes, sneaking a peek of whoever he'd brought up to his room last night.

Sprawled out on her stomach beside him was a brunette that he vaguely recognized from around campus. It was funny, he didn't remember her being at the party last night, but he did drink a whole bottle of tequila so… There were probably a lot of things he didn't remember.

He leaned in, sinking his teeth into her shoulder while his hand ghosted up her side. She flinched, probably ticklish, but murmured a hushed sigh, wiggling that perfect ass in his direction as she rolled onto her back.

"Mmm, good morning," she whispered breathily, shifting her legs apart to accommodate him as he moved to hover over her.

Oliver lowered himself onto his elbows, using his weight to press her into the mattress—which, judging by the way she bucked her hips into his, she did not mind—and brushed his lips over hers. "Hi."

Just as he was about to kiss her and go for round two, a phone dinged diverting his attention for a moment. Just enough time that… Ashley? No, Alexa? Whatever her name was, she was officially distracted from sex and brought her hands up to push on his shoulders. He rolled off of her, plopping back onto the mattress with a disgruntled huff as she rolled over and leaned down to retrieve her phone from the floor beside the bed, giving him an excellent view while she was at it. He reached over, running a hand up her thigh. There was a possibility he could still salvage the situation if he could distract her from her phone long enough, and he'd always been told he was good with his hands...

"Shit, Ollie!" she cursed suddenly, pulling away from him and jumping out of bed. "I told you to set an alarm! My economics final started forty-five minutes ago."

Oliver sighed, propping himself up against the headboard as she moved around the bedroom, frantically collecting her things. He couldn't recall her asking, but he knew he'd probably been more concerned with getting her into bed last night than getting her out of it this morning. She'd barely gotten her dress back on, but was already grabbing her purse and her shoes in one hand, her phone in the other, and running for the door.

Oliver couldn't help but wonder why she was even bothering if she was that late. They could have stayed in bed and gone another round or two. He supposed it was easier this way though. At least now he wouldn't have to worry about kicking her out later.

"Hey, Allison," a voice called from the hallway, and he turned to see Lewis Li standing in the doorway.

Allison— _that_ was her name!—grumbled something Oliver couldn't make out, before he heard the clicking of heels on the stairs.

Lewis turned to lean against the door jamb, waving a cellphone in Oliver's direction. "Hey, Queen! You left your phone downstairs last night. It's been blowing up all morning."

"Oh, yeah?" Oliver grinned, gesturing to Lewis to throw it over. The phone arched through the air and, despite Oliver's attempt to catch it, landed with a plop on his blanket covered thigh.

"Yeah." Lewis smirked. "You've got, like, a thousand missed call from your mom."

He glanced at the screen with a groan, causing Lewis to bark out a laugh before walking off in the direction of his room.

Oliver got out of bed, twisting the blanket around his waist for modesty's sake, and closed the door. He loved being part of a fraternity, but he wasn't all that fond of the lack of privacy that came with living in a frat house. He twisted the lock, then pulled on a pair of boxers before sitting down on his bed to call his mom back.

Lewis had been exaggerating about the thousand missed calls, but four was still more than enough to have Oliver worrying about what his mother could possibly want. She usually only called once or twice during the week, and almost never on the weekend.

The phone rang three times before he heard her voice over the line. "Hello?"

"Hey, Mom!" He kept his tone as cheery as possible, hoping this was just a friendly social call. He doubted it, but he might as well hope for the best. Something he'd picked up from his best friend, Tommy Merlyn, over the years.

"Oliver. It's nearly noon here, which means it's the middle of the afternoon there. Please tell me you weren't still asleep."

He couldn't say he was surprised it was going to be one of _those_ calls. He was aware he wasn't the best student, and that his parents weren't exactly pleased with that fact. Still, he scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed at her tone.

"It's Friday, Mom."

"You don't have classes on Friday?" she asked, pointedly.

"Not today," Oliver said, kicking his feet up on the bed and leaning back against the headboard. "My last final was yesterday."

Not that he always attended class when he did have it, but at least he wasn't lying. All of his classes had wrapped up for the semester and he was officially on winter break.

"And how did you do?" she asked, a challenge clear in her voice.

"I don't know," he said, noncommittally. "The professor hasn't sent out grades yet."

His mother's sigh filled the line and he felt all the weight of her disappointment. They both knew he wasn't waiting on an A or a B.

"I'm trying—"

"Like you were trying in your last school?" she asked, her voice sharp from frustration. "Or the one before that?"

He tensed, bringing one hand up to brush his fingers over his left eyebrow. "Mom..."

"This is your third school in less than a year and a half. Oliver, I'm paying for your education, not for you to live a life of debauchery."

"What?" he laughed, but quickly sobered when he was greeted by nothing but silence from her. "Mom, that's…." He sighed. "Look, I know I haven't always tried my hardest, but I'm doing better this time, I promise. And going to parties and making friends is not debauchery. I have a girlfriend—"

"Oh," she said, and there was something in her voice that set Oliver's teeth on edge. He was certain that, if she'd been standing in the room with him, she'd have one eyebrow raised in that knowing look she always gave him right before catching him in a lie. "It's funny you should mention that. Guess who I ran into at Capone's this afternoon?"

Oliver felt his stomach drop to his feet.

"Thea and I dropped in for lunch and who should we see but Laurel Lance," Moira continued. "She's already on break and had some _very surprising_ things to say when I invited her over for a family dinner when you get home."

"Mom—"

"She said you were more focused on meeting girls at fraternity parties than your relationship so she broke up with you."

"It wasn't like that—"

"But tell me again why we should keep paying for you to do the bare minimum at Harvard when you could be home failing out of community college and sleeping with women who aren't your girlfriend?" Moira sighed, and he could imagine the look she probably had on her face. It would be the same mix of frustration and disappointment she always wore when talking to him. "Oliver, I think your father and I need to rethink how we are parenting you."

Parenting…? "I'm an adult!" he argued.

"Who lives off of our money!" Moira retorted. "If you aren't going to take college seriously then maybe it's time for you to come home, get a job…"

"Mom, it's not like that," Oliver found himself saying. "I'm… I'm... "

"You're what, Oliver? she asked.

His mind spun, desperate to figure out some way to talk himself out of this. He couldn't go home. He might not be the biggest fan of college, but he enjoyed the freedom of living on his own. No way was he going to go home and have his parents dictate the rest of his life for him the way they'd been trying to do since he was a kid. But he had no leverage, no excuse to stay. He'd done better than he had the previous semester, but only barely. He'd made friends, but not like the friends he had at home, no one to justify staying for. If Laurel was here it'd be different. He could say he wanted to make things work with her and his mom would understand. She'd always wanted him to be in a happy relationship, and she'd always liked Laurel. It wasn't as if was dating anyone else, but—

"I'm seeing someone new." He'd barely thought over the decision before the words were tumbling out of his mouth.

Moira huffed a breath. "This isn't about who you're dating, Oliver."

"I know that," he said, and he knew he was grabbing at straws with this defense, but… "I'm just saying, I have a girlfriend. A serious one, so I'm not out partying all the time. And I'm… I'm going to tutoring. Because I'm trying to do better for next semester."

His mother only grumbled something he didn't quite catch, so he continued, "Things went south with Laurel, but… I learned my lesson. This girl I'm dating now…" He trailed off, not knowing what to say, since the girl in question didn't actually exist. So he stuck with a line that usually worked on his mother. "Please, Mom? Give me another chance."

He knew it was a shot in the dark, hoping his mother would give in if she thought he was getting his life together. When he'd started dating Laurel during high school, his parents had eased off of him some, giving him more leeway because they liked her. He doubted they'd ever like anyone else the way they liked Laurel. She was smart and poised and kind. She was ambitious and had always fought for what she wanted, whether it was a grade or a job or for Oliver to take their relationship more seriously. That was part of the reason he'd decided on a school on the other side of the country from where she was attending. He loved Laurel, but college was supposed to be fun. She'd been trying to get him to look at apartments with her and he'd even heard her talking about engagement rings with her best friend, Joanna. No way was he ready for all of that and he'd… kind of let her know in not so many words. Actually, it had been less words and more like a sorority girl in just a pair of panties bursting into his dorm room while he was Facetiming Laurel. She'd broken things off immediately.

His mother sighed down the phone line and Oliver held his breath waiting for the verdict.

"Fine," she said, and Oliver nearly pumped his fist in victory. "But I want to see actual improvement this time, Oliver, or else I'm freezing your trust fund until you're responsible enough to deserve it."

"Thank you," Oliver said. "I'll make you proud, I swear."

He would just have to pay one of the nerds in his classes to do the work for him. He was sure it wouldn't be too hard to find someone willing to help. If he just laid some charm on the right girl, he was sure he'd get what he wanted. He usually did.

"Oh," his mother said, breaking into his planning, "and I want to meet this new girlfriend of yours. Bring her home for Christmas."

"Uh… no, I don't…" Oliver spluttered, sitting up in bed. "Mom, I don't think she's going to be able to make it on such short notice."

"Oliver, there's a week until Christmas and you said you were already on break. Surely she can rearrange her schedule."

"But she's, um… She's already made plans with her family for Christmas."

"So invite them, too. I'm sure they'd love to meet you and your family." Her tone turned suspicious. "If you two are as serious as you say you are, that is."

"Yes," he said, realizing that his mother was a lot smarter than he'd given her credit for. She wasn't fooled by his ruse in the slightest. "Of course we are. She's… she's amazing, Mom. You're gonna love her."

"So she'll come, then?"

"I'm sure she can reschedule her plans a little. I'll talk to her and let you know."

"Oh and Oliver! What's her name? If she's coming I'd like to have a gift—"

"Uh, I gotta go, Mom. Tutoring. I'll call you tomorrow. Love you. Bye."

Oliver hung up the phone and took a deep breath, trying to ease some of the panic coursing through him. Cheating his way into a decent grade was one thing, but how the hell was he supposed to fake a girlfriend? But what choice did he have? If he went home alone his mother would know he was lying—she obviously already suspected he was—and if she found out he was lying she'd make good on her threat to lock him out of his trust fund. Of that, Oliver had no doubt.

Maybe… maybe he could call Allison from this morning and see if she was up for being his girlfriend for a week. He could dump her once they got back to Boston and his mom would never have to know difference. She seemed responsible, if her reaction to being late for her final was anything to go by. Although she did go out drinking at a party the night before said final, so… Well, his mother would never have to know that part, either.

He started to unlock his phone before he realized he'd never bothered getting her number. He supposed he could ask Lewis. He seemed to know her, or, at least, he knew her name, which was more than Oliver had known.

His shoulders slumped and he knocked his head back against the headboard. Ugh, this was never going to work. He pressed his fingers to his forehead, smoothing his brow, and tried to think of anyone else he could ask to Starling for Christmas. Oliver had never considered having so many sexual partners a bad thing before, but right now he was having a really hard time remembering names. The few he did remember were more of the stay-far-far-away-from-this-chick variety. Carrie was a prime example. And Helena. And Susan. Why didn't he keep a little black book the way Tommy did? He'd always laughed at his best friend's collection of names—with star ratings next to them—but now—

"Yo, Ollie!" One of his frat brothers banged on the door, loud enough to startle him. "We're ordering pizza for the party. What do you want?"

"Surprise me!" Oliver said with a roll of his eyes, but then he remembered… the party!

His frat was throwing another party tonight. They were throwing parties all weekend to celebrate the end of finals. Here he was worrying about finding a girl to bring home with him when there was going to be a house full of them, ripe for the picking. He knew he could charm someone into going to Starling with him for the holidays. It wasn't like he was asking them to be his actual girlfriend, just to pretend for a week. It was basically a vacation.

And who wouldn't want to take an all expenses paid vacation with a handsome billionaire for Christmas?


	2. Chapter 2

Felicity walked through the door and immediately had to sidestep a guy shotgunning a beer. She turned to glance back at Amanda.

"You really thought this would cheer me up?" she said, raising her voice to be heard over the music.

Amanda shrugged, moving past her and further into the frat house. "I never said anything about cheering up. The term I used was _distraction_."

A couple walked by, the girl laughing just a little too much to be authentic. Amanda followed them into the living room. There was a keg in the corner, a makeshift dance floor in the middle. In the back, the wide space opened up into a nice, if messy, kitchen. A guy with shaggy blonde hair was mixing drinks at the island, surrounded by girls in dresses so short Felicity had to wonder how they managed to get to the party without contracting hypothermia.

She glanced down at her own outfit—a leather jacket and her favorite pair of cargo pants—and heard her mother's voice in her head. _You'll never meet a nice boy if you're constantly hiding underneath those baggy clothes, Felicity_. Like she'd actually want any boy that only wanted her for her body.

She sighed, not wanting to think about her mother anymore than she had to. It wasn't that she didn't love her mom, she did. Donna Smoak was a good mother at heart, but she had very vocal opinions about Felicity's life, specifically her love life or lack thereof. And she'd gotten to hear all of those opinions early that afternoon when Donna called to complain about her car breaking down and Felicity had inadvertently let slip that she'd recently broken up with her boyfriend.

She'd eventually gotten her mom back on topic, but the damage had been done. She'd be getting worried phone calls and texts with links to dating apps in them for at least the next few weeks. And on top of that she also had to send her mom a check to get the car fixed.

Donna hadn't asked. Her mother was far too proud to ask for money, especially from her daughter, but Felicity had been organizing the budget for years. She knew what her mom made working as a cocktail waitress, she knew what a burden paying to repair the car would be. Without that car Donna would be left riding the bus until she managed to save enough to get it fixed.

Donna was always sending what little money she had left over Felicity's way for food and any extra expenses she might have. The least she could do was help her fix the car. Tomorrow she'd go to the bank and transfer whatever her mom needed. She'd just have to start taking extra shifts at the diner near campus where she worked to make up the difference.

Purposefully pushing away thoughts of her mother—and how pulling extra shifts might screw with her schedule next semester—she concentrated on following Amanda through the crowd, trying her best not to get elbowed as she went.

"This is a zoo," she said. A guy rushed past, nearly spilling his drink on her. He barely spared her a backwards glance before joining his friends near the keg. "I take that back, zoo animals have better manners."

"Stop being such a party pooper, Smoak." Amanda took her arm, guiding the towards the keg. "You've barely been out of the room since you dumped that dickwad Cooper." Felicity's chest throbbed unpleasantly at the mention of Cooper, but she kept it to herself. "You need to get out there, have some fun." Amanda waggled her eyebrows playfully. "Maybe even get laid."

Felicity rolled her eyes. It had only been two weeks since she'd broken things off with Cooper. It wasn't like she was some recluse who'd taken a vow of chastity. It was just... She couldn't say she was one hundred percent, officially over Cooper. Yet.

Oh, she'd been angry as hell at him and told him to stay away. He'd deserved it after stealing one of her coding projects and turning it in to their professor as if he'd written it himself. If Professor Nakamura hadn't been so impressed with the project that he'd used it as an example in class, Felicity might never have even known about it. She might have been totally ignorant to the fact that her boyfriend was using her. He'd tried to explain himself—like there was _any_ explanation he could give that would make it better—but she'd been too angry to listen. Too hurt.

She sucked in a quick breath. This was why Amanda wanted her to get out of the dorms. This party was so not Felicity's scene, but it was a decent enough distraction from her ever spiraling thoughts.

Amanda accepted two red solo cups filled to the brim with fizzy beer from the guy at the keg and handed her one. Her eyes caught on someone on the dance floor, lighting up in recognition as she waved. Felicity glanced over to see two girls she didn't recognize waving back.

"Go, mingle. I'll be around if you need me," Amanda said, walking off towards the dance floor and her friends.

Felicity watched, trying not to be too annoyed that Amanda had dragged her here only to ditch her first chance she got. It wasn't like they were really friends or anything. Amanda had been really nice the past couple of weeks, but the truth was, before she'd found herself newly single, Felicity had been too preoccupied with Cooper to pay much attention to her roommate. She was lucky the girl had been nice enough to invite her along or else she'd be alone in her dorm, debating whether or not it was a good idea to eat the whole pint of mint chip in one sitting. Again.

Someone knocked into her trying to get to the keg, so, carefully holding her beer in the air in front of her, she squeezed past the crowd, finding a clear spot in the back of the room near the wall. She had a good view of the room from there and hopefully no one would bother her. Most people were near the alcohol or on the makeshift dance floor, grinding against each other. There was a couch and a couple of chairs pushed over into the corner nearby, a guy with short, dirty blonde hair holding court with a few girls who were hanging on his every word. Felicity ignored them and sipped at her beer, taking in the room.

She didn't know anyone there besides Amanda, but she hadn't thought she would. It was a Harvard party and she went to MIT, so it wasn't like she had classes with any of these people. She ignored the fact that her roommate knew people, that she'd gone out and made friends off campus. That she hadn't wasted her modicum of free time on a guy who'd only used and betrayed her in the end.

She took a larger sip of beer.

Two girls walked past, a blonde in a velvety red dress and a brunette whose curls practically defied gravity, creating a halo around her slender face. She wouldn't have even taken notice of them had the brunette not said, "I hope he picks me!"

"I hope he picks me!" the blonde one said, then pouted. "It's too bad he can't pick us both," which sent them into a riot of giggles that piqued Felicity's interest.

She'd seen these two talking to couch guy and was suddenly curious. Reaching out with her free hand to get their attention, she said, "Hey. What's going on over there?" She gestured towards the guy, and the girls eyes followed.

The blonde smiled and glanced back at Felicity conspiratorially. "That's Ollie Queen," she said, a small smile on her red lips.

"The billionaire," her friend added.

"Billionaire?" Felicity looked back at the guy in question. He looked like a preppy rich kid, but a billionaire? Jeez.

"Yeah," the blonde said, tossing her hair over her shoulder and leaning in closer. "His family owns some, like, big company or something on the west coast."

"Queen Consolidated?" she asked, brows shooting up as she took another look at the guy. "What's he doing?"

"Oh," the girl giggled. "He's trying to find a date to his parents for Christmas. Apparently his mom is, like, big on relationships or something, and his girlfriend broke up with him, so he needs a new one."

"Huh?" Felicity blinked. The casual way she'd said _he needs a new one_ , like they were talking about the guy dropping his phone in the toilet or something, threw her off.

The girl shrugged. "I don't know. But he said he was flying out in a private jet! Can you imagine?"

"Ugh, he's so hot," her friend said, grabbing her arm to tug her back to the party. "I bet it would be amazing."

They walked off grinning, totally lost in thoughts of private jets and handsome billionaires. Felicity looked back, suddenly understanding why there were so many girls flocking around the guy on the couch. It was almost sad, really. The guy had to audition women because, what? He couldn't get a date the normal way?

She moved closer, sipping at her beer and settled in on the arm of one of the chairs to watch the show. Despite her finding it personally distasteful, it was probably the most interesting thing happening at this party. The best distraction Felicity was willing to find, at least.

"I'm sorry," the Queen scion said, leaning in closer to the only girl left on the couch—a brunette with some of the longest legs Felicity had ever seen. He laid a hand on the girl's exposed knee. "I need someone who can actually fly out to Starling for the next week, but" —he grinned, his teeth too white for Felicity's liking— "if you give me your number I'll call you when I get back."

The girl pouted, but recited her digits and he stored them in his phone. As she left another guy walked over, two bottles of beer in his hands.

"How's the search goin', Queen? Find any winners?" he asked, handing over one of the bottles.

"You know it." Queen grinned, leaning back against the couch and taking a pull of his beer. "My mom wouldn't agree, but..."

"Those are the best kind!" the other guy laughed. He was cute, clearly of Asian descent, with sleek black hair that fell across his forehead. "I can't believe you're going through with this. You've got stones, man. I'd never ask a girl to pretend to be my girlfriend for Christmas at my mom's. Hell, I don't think I've ever actually lied to my mom. She'd skin me alive. I'm more an omission kind of guy."

"Well, it's either this or lose my trust fund," Queen said, fingers tapping against the neck of his bottle. "At least this way I stand a chance."

"Yeah, that's if your mom buys it." The other guy laughed and clapped Queen on the shoulder. "Hey, I know a girl who might be perfect for this. I think she's here. Let me go find her."

"Sure, send her over," Queen said, stretching his arms across the back of the couch. "Can't hurt."

Felicity watched the other guy disappear into the crowd. Queen sipped at his beer, eyes scanning the room. His gaze settled on her for half a second before continuing his track around the room. Despite herself, she was intrigued. Not by the guy, he was clearly kind of a douche, but by whatever nonsense he was conducting over here in the corner.

She settled back against the chair, watching as Queen waved over a blonde from the kitchen. The girl looked over her shoulder, like she was checking to make sure he'd meant her and not someone standing behind her. He laughed and crooked a finger in her direction, causing her to bite her lip bashfully. Felicity rolled her eyes.

"Hi," he said with that too white grin of his as the girl sat beside him on the couch. "I'm Ollie Queen. What's your name?"

The blonde smiled, a blush staining her porcelain cheeks. "Ashley."

"Ashley," he repeated, leaning in conspiratorially and whispering something in her ear.

Ashley giggled, blushing even more fiercely, and Queen grinned again, but it wasn't quite as wide and bright as the other times. Felicity was pretty sure it was forced. Nevertheless he began explaining how he needed a date to his parent's for the holidays.

"My mom's constantly worrying about me since my ex and I broke up," he said with a roll of his eyes. "You know how moms are."

Ashley giggled and nodded along. Felicity couldn't help but agree as she recalled her own mother's worried questions from earlier that day.

"I just want to show her I'm happy out here. That she doesn't have to worry about me. I figured if I brought home a nice girl" —he gave her knee a light tap that had Ashley blushing again— "for Christmas it would make her worry less."

Ashley melted into the cushions beside him as he spoke and Felicity had to fight to keep the disgust off her face. She'd just heard him telling that other guy he was doing this for his trust fund and now he was telling this girl it was all for his mom's benefit? Ugh.

"Moms totally love me," Ashley said eagerly. "My ex's mom still texts me from time to time, just to check in." She bit her lip, looking bashful as she blinked up at him through long eyelashes. "I just mean, people usually love me."

Queen grinned. "Oh, yeah?"

Ashley shrugged strategically, pushing her cleavage together in a way that he openly stared at.

"Oh my god," Felicity muttered to herself, turning away. But it was like a train wreck and she kept glancing back from time to time to see the two talking. Ashley placed her hand on his bicep, then he'd brush a strand of hair away from her face and she'd blush like crazy and give him a dopey grin.

She'd just seen this asshole interviewing a whole group of girls less than twenty minutes ago for this stupid trick he was playing on his mother. This girl Ashley, she was sweet, maybe even a little naive. She saw a cute boy—and even Felicity had to admit Queen was kind of cute with his hair and his face... and his shoulders… The point was, Ashley saw a cute guy paying her attention and she liked it. But Queen couldn't care less about Ashley. He just wanted to use her for his own twisted reasons.

Eventually, Felicity couldn't take it anymore.

"I hate to interrupt," she said, raising her voice to catch their attention. Once she had it, she continued, "but this guy isn't interested in you. He just _auditioned_ at least three other girls before you sat down next to him."

Ashley blinked, looking back and forth between the guy in question and Felicity. He was staring at her too, watching her with sharp, narrowed eyes.

"Uh…" Ashley said, slowly scooting closer to Queen. "Yeah, because he's looking for the perfect someone to bring home to make his mom happy." She turned to smile at him. "I think it's sweet and I would be happy to help."

Felicity laughed. "Sure you would. Because you think he's going to fall in love with you or something. Spoiler alert, he won't. He's just using you and you'll end up crying yourself to sleep for weeks when he dumps you after Christmas."

Queen glared at her, his jaw ticking, but Felicity met his eyes with a steady gaze of her own. He was using this girl and she didn't deserve it. If he wanted someone to help him trick his mom so he could keep his trust fund or whatever then he should use a girl who was fully aware of what she was getting herself into. Instead he was lying and telling half truths that would do nothing but break this girl's heart. Better for Felicity to crush her hopes now than to let him drag it out.

Ashley's shoulders slumped and she looked down at her fingers, nervously tangling them together in her lap, before looking back at Queen. "Um… I think I should just go."

"No, Ashley, wait!" he tried, but she was already gone. "Why'd you do that?" he demanded as soon as they were alone. Or, at least, as alone as they could get in the middle of a frat party. People were around, but no one paid them any mind.

"She seemed like a nice girl," she said with a shrug. "And—for some reason—she seemed legitimately into you. You were gonna break her heart."

"That's not—" Queen cut himself off, taking a deep breath and shaking his head. "Just mind your own business, okay?"

Felicity shrugged, holding her hands up placatingly, and went back to her drink. Queen glared at her until he noticed someone heading in his direction.

"Jennifer!" he called, throwing the girl another too-white smile as she approached.

"Ollie, hey," she said, taking a seat after he patted the cushion beside him. "Lewis said you needed to talk to me?"

"Yeah," he said, giving Felicity one last pointed side eye, before focusing all of his attention on the girl beside him. "How are you?"

Jennifer reached over placing a hand on his bicep, and Queen tilted his head, shooting her a flirtatious smile.

"I'm good," she said. "I was out late at the Delta party, woke up with a killer hangover. Had to take Peterson's final." She glanced down, watching her fingers brush up and down his arm. "Ugh, his class is just way too early."

" _So_ early," he teased, his voice going soft.

Felicity snorted at their lame flirting, rolling her eyes. When she looked back she found Queen glaring at her, but he quickly focused back on Jennifer.

"So I was wondering," he said, strategically placing his palm on the ripped knee of her jeans. "What are you doing for break?"

"I don't know. I was just going to hang out here, maybe go home for Christmas. My family lives right outside the city so…" Jennifer grinned, tossing a strand of curls over her shoulder. "But nothing's set in stone."

Oliver grinned. "What would you say to coming home with me for the holidays? I kind of need a date for my mom's Christmas party and I just" —he glanced down bashfully— "think it would be fun to hang out with you."

"Oh, and also he needs you to help trick his mom into letting him keep his trust fund," Felicity interjected with a smirk, not in the least bit concerned with the way Queen growled—like literally growled—at her for interrupting. "I'm fuzzy on the details, I've only been listening for the last couple girls he talked to."

"Uh…" Jennifer had the good sense to move away from the wolf in the Lacoste polo on the couch. "Okay, I don't know what's going on—"

"Nothing," Queen said. "It's… I don't even know who this is." He gestured to Felicity, who smiled sweetly at Jennifer. "She just sat down there. She's probably high or something."

Jennifer glanced back at her suspiciously.

"I'm not high," Felicity explained, shaking her head. "The one and only time I tried pot I ended up having to get my stomach pumped because turns out people making pot brownies don't take food allergies into consideration much."

"Oh-kay," Jennifer drawled, pushing to her feet. "I'll see you later, Ollie."

Queen didn't call out after the girl this time, instead he turned back to Felicity, outrage pinching his features. She raised her cup to her lips, trying to suppress her grin. She really shouldn't be having as much fun as she was. Still, saving girls from a jerk like Queen was a good deed, so she let herself enjoy it.

"Why would you do that?" he demanded, his eyes boring into her. "You have no idea what's going on—"

"No," she conceded with a nod, "but I'm morbidly curious." She leaned closer. "See I don't like mysteries. They need to be solved. And you, Queen, are—well," she paused, gesturing to him, "you're not exactly a mystery, but what you're doing? Why you're doing it? _Very_ curious."

"What?" he asked, eyeing her like she'd grown a second head. She was used to people looking at her like that, and _him_ thinking she was weird? Didn't even faze her.

"Those girls said you needed a new girlfriend for the holidays," she said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. "Because your mom wanted you to be in a relationship or something, but you told that guy that your trust fund depended on it, so… What are you up to?"

Queen sighed, leaning back into the couch. "Why do you care?" When she only shrugged, he said, "If I tell you will you leave me alone?"

Felicity shrugged again, undeterred by his attitude. She was determined to solve this riddle, even if she had to bug him all night.

He sighed again, leaning his elbows onto his knees. "It's complicated, but I wasn't really lying. My mom threatened to freeze my trust fund and I'm just trying to convince her I'm turning over a new leaf."

"By pretending you have a girlfriend?"

"Yeah, well, I kinda told her I was seeing someone and she wanted me to bring them home for Christmas so…"

Felicity nodded knowingly. "So you lied, and now you're desperately trying not to get caught."

She shot him a skeptical look and he rolled his eyes.

"It's—It's not my greatest plan, no. But it could work."

She would have laughed at his earnestness, had his _plan_ not included lying to some poor girl. After the whole Cooper incident… She just wasn't in the mood to watch anyone else be used like that.

Without her consent, her mind began spinning its own plan into action. She kind of hated herself for it, but, she justified, if she didn't do it this guy was going to use some innocent girl that didn't know what she was getting herself into.

###

Oliver furrowed his brow, taking in the girl who'd decided ruining his night was how she was going to spend her's. When he'd noticed her sit down near him he'd assumed she was waiting for her turn, not that he would've been interested. She was a goth, her long dark hair streaked with purple and hanging down around her waist. She was wearing a leather jacket over a dark T-shirt and baggy cargo pants. Definitely not his type. She was incredibly observant though.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Felicity," she said, placing her red solo cup on the coffee table between them.

"Well, Felicity, do you always butt into things that aren't any of your business?"

"No," she said, with a tiny shake of her head. She stood from her chair and moved around the table towards him. "But you're lucky I did."

"Huh?" From what he could tell, he was pretty unlucky she'd taken an interest in him. Jennifer might have actually been perfect for his plan and she'd chased her away.

Bending a knee beneath her, Felicity plopped down on the couch beside him, bouncing a little as she narrowed her black-rimmed eyes. "I'm gonna go ahead and ignore the obvious sexism of this whole thing you've got going on right here" —she waved a hand in his direction— "and just point out that interviewing women at a frat party to be your fake girlfriend is probably a really bad idea."

Oliver pressed his fingertips to his brow in frustration before glancing back at her. "And what would you suggest?"

"Not using a woman as a prop to get you ahead in life?"

She smirked at him and he grit his teeth in annoyance. He wasn't doing… that. He just needed some help and, in this case, it could only come in the form of a woman.

"But since you're not going to listen to the voice of reason," she continued, "maybe you'll listen to the voice of being-slightly-less-of-a-dick instead."

Oliver rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his beer. He felt like he was going to need it. "And what does that voice have to say?" he asked.

"It says," she drawled, leaning forward, her hands on her knees as she invaded his personal space just a little, "that these women aren't interested in helping you, they're interested in _you_. They think they're about to have a Hallmark movie experience with an attractive billionaire. Of course they're gonna be tripping over each other to be the one you pick. They'll say anything, agree to anything."

"I'm not really seeing the problem," Oliver said with a smirk he added just to piss her off. From the disdainful frown tugging her lips downward, it seemed to be working.

"The problem _is_ ," she sneered, "not only are you setting yourself up for failure, you're setting them up for a broken heart." She sat back, eyes clouding over for a moment as she pondered her words. "Well, maybe more a dented ego and some hurt feelings than a broken heart, but it'll have the same outcome for you either way."

"And what outcome is that, oh wise one?"

Felicity grinned, leaning back in a little. "Complete and utter catastrophe." Oliver rolled his eyes at her dramatics, but she was already talking again. "That's why you need someone who's not interested in you at all. Someone who doesn't even like you, really."

"And how would that work?" Oliver asked, shaking his head. "The whole point is to convince people we're dating. Besides," he added with another smirk aimed to annoy her, "everyone likes me."

Felicity ignored his posturing. "It's called acting. And that's what you need, someone who will be professional about the whole thing. You can't ask a girl with a crush on you to pretend to be your girlfriend. That's not fair. But" —she smiled that knowing smile again, wrapping one hand around her ankle on the couch— "you can hire someone to perform a service for you—and no, I did not mean that the way it came out." She closed her eyes, shaking her head like she could shake the embarrassed flush out of her cheeks with a quick jerk. "I meant you can hire a person to be your faux lover—"

Oliver made a disgusted sound at the choice of words and almost laughed when he saw Felicity cringe.

"That word always sounds creepy, no matter how you say it," she said, waving her hand in front of her as if to shoo the lingering word away.

"You want me to hire an escort to be my date for Christmas?"

"No," Felicity said, looking exasperated. "I just think your little scheme will work a lot better if you get someone with no skin in the game. And a good work ethic. I mean, not to brag, but I happen to have an excellent work ethic."

"You?" Oliver asked, eyes wide in surprise, but then the feeling faded and suddenly Felicity made a lot more sense to him. "You're trying to extort me," he accused.

"I would never." And, even though her tone was light, there was genuine hurt in her eyes. Enough to make Oliver doubletake. "Look, I'm just offering my help as a completely dispassionate third party, who has no stake in the matter. And who could use some extra spending money at the moment…" She actually blushed at that and Oliver nearly smiled it was so adorable. "You wouldn't have to worry about me getting emotionally attached either. But, hey. It's up to you."

He sat back, considering her offer, considering her. She made a good point about not choosing someone who might form an attachment. He couldn't risk this blowing up in his face. Not when his trust fund—his freedom—was on the line. This goth girl might need a makeover to turn her into someone he'd believably be interested in, but she wasn't unattractive. A haircut and a new wardrobe and she might even be kind of hot. And it wasn't like he had that many options. She'd chased the only two girls who might have had potential away...

"Ollie," he said, sticking his hand out.

"Yeah." She glanced down at his hand before looking back up at him. "I'm not calling you that."

"That's my name," he said, brows wrinkling in confusion.

"Ollie's short for Oliver, right?" she asked, dark hair spilling over her shoulder as she tilted her head to the side.

"Yeah," he admitted, "but only my parents call me that."

"And your new girlfriend." She smirked, the glint in her dark rimmed eyes making him nervous.

What did he just get himself into?


	3. Chapter 3

A rush of cold winter air followed him through the door and into the Coffee Bean. Oliver shook the cold from him, rubbing his hands together as he glanced around.

After exchanging information, he and Felicity had agreed that she'd need a new look if his mother was going to buy their act. It wasn't that Moira wouldn't believe Oliver would date a goth chick. Although she might be skeptical, he was sure she wouldn't put anything past him. No, it was more that dating a goth chick probably wouldn't score him continued unrestricted access to his trust fund. He needed someone… mature, responsible. Someone his mother would respect, the same way she'd respected Laurel.

Oliver thought, not for the first time, how much easier this whole thing would be if Laurel hadn't dumped him. They'd had a good thing going, and his parents loved her. Her parents on the other hand—her father in particular? Eh, not so much. He got along with her mother, Dinah, but Detective Quentin Lance had always had it out for him. Ever since high school, when he'd peed on his partner's patrol car. Lance had even threatened to get his gun after catching him in Laurel's bedroom one night. He wasn't exactly missing that, but he did miss Laurel. Sometimes he'd find himself staring at a picture she'd given him right after graduation. It was her senior photo, and she was posed the same way as the rest of the girls in the senior class. There was nothing especially remarkable about it, but whenever Oliver pulled it out of his wallet he'd feel a pang in his chest and he couldn't help but think that that must be what love felt like.

He'd been in love with Laurel for a long time and, even though he'd been having a lot of fun since moving to Massachusetts last year, he'd missed her. He missed the way she cuddled on the couch with him whenever he'd had too much to drink the night before. The way she'd send him random happy face emojis throughout the day, letting him know she was thinking of him. He supposed he missed being in a real relationship. What he didn't miss were the constant fights, the late night phone calls where she'd cry, begging him to come home. He was glad to be done with that. For keeping his parents off his back, though, she'd been perfect. His mom just assumed that Laurel would whip him into shape eventually, the same way she'd done with his father.

Unwrapping his scarf, Oliver spotted a jet black head of hair near the back of the cafe. Felicity was sipping coffee and typing away on a tablet, completely oblivious to the rest of the world. He made his way over and dropped down into the seat across from her.

"So," he said with a smirk. "You ready to get Pretty Woman-ed?"

Felicity didn't jump at the sudden sound of his voice the way Oliver half expected her to. Instead she shifted her gaze up from her tablet, meeting his, and said, "I am not a whore and you are certainly not Richard Gere," before dipping her gaze back to whatever she was working on.

Oliver frowned, leaning over the table to try to get a look at what she was typing. It was just a bunch of random ones and zeroes and he sat back, slightly annoyed that she was ignoring him in favor of… whatever that was.

"Are we doing this or what?" he asked, irritably. "Because I have better things I could be doing."

Felicity finished typing something and then snapped her tablet off, storing it in the messenger bag sitting beside her on the floor. Once she had it tucked away safely she turned back to him with a glare. "You know, you might be paying me, but I'm still doing you a huge favor, buddy, so why don't you knock it off with the attitude."

" _I_ have an attitude?" Oliver scoffed. "You're the one—"

"You were nearly a half hour late," she said. "I decided to get some work in while I waited because, believe it or not, I actually have better things I could be doing, too."

Standing suddenly, she grabbed the black leather jacket draped over the back of her chair and put it on, before swinging her messenger bag over her head.

"If we're gonna do this, then let's do it already," she said, shooting him one last look before heading for the door.

Oliver watched her leave, the muscles in his jaw twitching in annoyance, but he stood and followed her from the coffee shop.

"So how long am I playing your girlfriend?" she asked as they walked to a little boutique across the street that Oliver had suggested the other night.

It was a quaint little store front; windows full of accessories and mannequins wearing the latest fashion trend. Thea had made him take her there last time she visited and he knew that they sold the type of clothing his mother would approve of. Clothes were easy, though. Felicity's personality would definitely be the harder sell. He'd already agreed to pay her whatever she wanted and if that didn't fix it then he didn't know what would.

"Uh..." he said, hopping up on the curb outside the boutique. "I was gonna send whoever I roped into this home early," he explained, "but I figure, as long as I'm paying you, you might as well stick around the whole time I'm there. My mom will love it. So the twenty-third until the second." He tipped his head to the side, taking her in. The diffuse morning light made her skin look paler than it had at the party. He might have to suggest a tanning session, too. "Unless you have a problem with that…"

Felicity sighed, but shook her head. "No, as long as I'm back in time for my independent study course I'm fine. But it'll cost you more."

Oliver laughed, and gestured her towards the boutique's door. "I'm sure it will."

A little bell chimed as Felicity pushed through the door ahead of him. She took one look around, shook her head, and headed for a rack of sweaters near the back.

The store was nice; not too pretentious for his sister's taste, but not too trendy for his mother's. From the look of the mannequins in the windows, he knew he'd have no problem dating a girl who wore any of these clothes. The shorter dresses to the left caught his eye and he veered over in that direction. He might have a hell of a fight ahead of him trying to convince Felicity to wear some of these, but from what he'd been able to tell of her body underneath all of those clothes, it might be worth it.

A woman, probably in her early thirties, rushed over when she noticed Oliver. "Hello there," she chirped, then feigned surprise. "I remember you."

He was sure she did. His sister had spent a lot of money here. Not to mention most people recognized him. He was a Queen. It was more surprising when people didn't recognize him.

"You came in here with your sister once before, didn't you?" the woman asked, her smile growing wider. "How may I help you today? Buying her a Christmas gift? Maybe something for your girlfriend?"

The woman winked and Oliver put on his best smile. "Actually, I am—"

"Three hundred dollars!? For a sweater? Are you out of your mind?"

Felicity's voice rang out across the store, startling a few of the other customers. The clerk glanced over, giving Felicity an appraising look before turning back to Oliver with an, "Excuse me for one moment." Then she forced a helpful smile and approached Felicity.

Oliver rolled his eyes, but hurried after her, not interested in the scene that he was pretty sure was about to take place if he didn't get ahead of it.

"May I help you?" the employee asked, picking a fuzzy pink sweater out of Felicity's hands and hanging it back up on the rack.

Felicity glared at her for a moment, a flicker of something passing through her blue eyes. The look was gone quickly enough, hardening into determination as she looked at him. "We're leaving," she said, resolutely.

"Why? I thought we agreed I was paying—"

"Not paying three hundred dollars for one sweater," she said, her leather jacket squeaking as she crossed her arms over her chest. "That's ridiculous."

The clerk looked between them and, seeming to realize that it wasn't Oliver she needed to impress here, turned back to Felicity with a polite smile. "I assure you, our clothing is worth the price. If you'd like to try it on—"

Felicity's eyebrows rose incredulously, as if the woman had insulted her in some way. "No, thank you," she huffed, grabbing Oliver's coat sleeve and pulling him back towards the door.

"But just feel how soft the cashmere—"

"I felt it," she said over her shoulder. "Still not paying three hundred dollars for a shirt. I could buy twelve of them at the mall for that price."

"Felicity," he said, following after her, "you know it doesn't matter how expensive anything is, right?"

"You might be a billionaire, Queen," she said, dropping his arm, "but you won't stay one for long if you let people rip you off like that."

He looked back at the clerk apologetically, but the woman had gone ramrod straight, her eyes narrowing as she glared at Felicity.

"Maybe try the Salvation Army over on Broadway," she said, crossing her arms as she watched them leave. "That seems more her price range."

Felicity stopped in her tracks, her hand falling away from the door handle as she turned back to look at the woman. Her blue eyes went wide in surprise before narrowing into a dangerous glare. For a moment, Oliver was afraid he might have to drag Felicity out of there before she did something she'd regret, but then she turned back to the door, pushed it open, and stormed out onto the sidewalk. Oliver trailed behind her, approaching cautiously when she stopped at the curb to fiddle with her phone.

She looked pissed and Oliver got it, he did. That woman had no right to talk to her like that, but she had basically accused them of ripping of their customers. _In front_ of their customers. She kept tapping at her phone with one hand while the other rose to brush away what he could only imagine was a stray tear.

He sighed, stepping up next to her. "Felicity, what she said—"

She scoffed, twisting around to glare at him. "You think I actually care what she thinks?"

Oliver didn't want to say he could see the glitter of unshed tears in her eyes, but he could and he knew she knew it.

"I don't care what she thinks, Oliver." She turned away as a black SUV turned the corner. She must have called the world's fastest Uber, because it changed lanes, slowing as it approached the curb. "I don't care what _you_ think. But I'm not the kind of person who allows a man—any man—to buy me anything that expensive. Three hundred dollars for a sweater? It's ridiculous, no matter how rich you are. You could buy a whole new wardrobe at a department store for the cost of that sweater." She shook her head. "Maybe your mom's right to take away your trust fund."

He hadn't thought the price was that big a deal. His mother and sister bought thousands of dollars worth of clothes whenever they went shopping. Hell, his shoes cost more than that stupid sweater. It wasn't a big deal, spending money like that, not to him. But he wasn't about to argue that with her. If she wanted to wear off-the-rack department store clothes, then so be it. As long as it got her out of those cargo pants in time for Christmas, he couldn't care less.

"You are the only person I've ever met stubborn enough to argue over the price of something I'm paying for."

"Says a lot about the kinds of people you've met," she said, pulling the door open and hopping in the back seat. "Take us to the mall," she told the driver, as Oliver followed her into the back.

###

"So… where to now?" he asked, watching the holiday crowd sweep through the mall like a horde of zombies. There were hundreds of them, swaying to and fro as they wandered in and out of different stores and around kiosks.

Oliver had never been to a mall here in Boston, but this one wasn't much different from the one Laurel used to drag him to sometimes in high school. It even had a similar layout. The crowds of people reminded him how much he hated shopping in the first place. That's why he usually just let his mom's personal shopper buy his clothes for him. She always knew the latest styles and he never had to waste his time in places like this.

"How about that one?" He gestured toward a store with a gaggle of giggling girls out front.

Felicity looked over and sighed, like even the thought of going into the store was too much for her. He didn't blame her. He didn't want to be here either, but she was the one who wanted to come to the mall. She could at least be _a little_ more enthusiastic about it.

"Fine," she murmured, plodding off in the direction of the girls.

The store was bright. Not the well lit kind of bright, thought it certainly was that too, but as in their merchandise was… bright. Definitely a change of pace from Felicity's somber black on black on black ensemble. He followed her through the store, twisting sideways to fit between displays without knocking anything over. This store was clearly not designed with someone like him in mind. Felicity, however, flitted through the racks of clothing with no problem at all.

She shopped mostly in silence, a slight furrow in her brow as if she were very focused on her task. After a few minutes of watching her pick things up, examine them, and put them back down, he realized she actually gravitated towards the brighter colored items. He wasn't sure if that was a purposeful decision on her part, or if, despite her current wardrobe choices, she had a preference for color.

"What about this one?" he said, holding out a yellow cardigan. There was one on the mannequin a few feet away and it looked okay. It was paired with a low cut blue top that he suspected would look good on her, but he didn't see any of those on the rack.

Felicity studied the sweater, taking it from him and checking the tag. She placed it back down and he almost sighed, but she thumbed through the sweaters, picking out one in a different size and handing it back to him. Before he could argue that he was only here as the credit card, not a coat rack, she'd already moved on, browsing another display.

"My mom is big into Christmas," Oliver said, as Felicity debated the merits of a fuschia trench coat. "If it was up to her Christmas would be celebrated from the beginning of December until the middle of January. I had to convince her to let us fly out on the 23rd. I told her you were spending time with your parents—or, you know, the made up version of you was—and she finally let up."

"It's just my mom," she said, turning around to drape the coat over his arm next to the cardigan. He huffed in annoyance, causing her to smirk, but he didn't really mind. Laurel used to do the same thing whenever she managed to drag him shopping.

"Huh?"

"Back in Vegas. It's just my mom," she repeated. "And we're Jewish so that actually works. This week was Hanukkah."

"Oh…"

Felicity turned, narrowing her eyes. "Oh? What oh?"

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "It's just… I kind of told my mom you were celebrating Christmas…"

She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring. Her voice was hard when she spoke. "Well, I'm Jewish."

"Yeah, no, of course. That's fine." She continued to glare at him so he glared right back. "When I was making up a fake girlfriend I didn't know she'd end up being Jewish. It's fine, I'll smooth it over."

Felicity rolled her eyes and went back to browsing. "If she questions it, tell her that I'm not overly religious and it never came up. That's true enough."

Oliver nodded, poking at one of the dresses on the rack. He brushed his fingers over the sequins, briefly wondering why on earth anyone would want to wear something made of that.

"Happy Hanukkah," he said, when he glanced back up at Felicity.

She turned back to him and blinked. "Thanks."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply you needed to pretend to celebrate Christmas or—"

"It's fine," Felicity said, waving a hand in dismissal. "I knew what you meant, but I won't compromise myself for this" —she gestured vaguely in the air— "anymore than necessary."

Oliver nodded. "That's fair."

"Good," she said with a definitive nod. "Because that includes my strict policy on not wearing sequins."

He glanced down at the dress he still held between his finger and thumb and laughed. "No sequins, refuses to lie about her religion, and enjoys reasonably priced clothing? You're really high maintenance, you know that?"

She grinned. "It's too late for you. You're already locked into this fake girlfriend experience."

"Hey," he said as a flash of light pink caught his eye. He nodded towards the rack behind her. "It's like the sweater from the boutique."

Felicity turned, eyes immediately seeking the fuzzy, pink material. She lifted the sleeve, glancing at the tag, and frowned.

"What? This one too expensive, too?" he joked and she pulled a face.

"No. It's just… this one's not as soft. It's like holding a Brillo pad to your skin after touching the other one." She huffed, grumbling, "Stupid, expensive sweater. Ruined me for all other sweaters."

Oliver laughed and said, "Okay. No sweaters, then. How about we find you a party dress instead? My mom throws an annual Christmas party that's kind of a big deal, so you need something nice."

Felicity led him over to rack of dresses, pulling a few out to inspect, including a tiny black one. It had cutouts in the waist that were definitely intriguing and Oliver reached out when she went to put it back.

"Wait," he said, taking the dress. He held it up, trying to imagine Felicity actually wearing something like it. So far they'd been looking at lots of cardigans and simple dresses that his mother would (mostly) approve of. This… this was something everyone would expect a girl he was dating to wear.

"I don't think your mom's gonna go for that one," she deadpanned, going back to the dress rack.

He shook his head. "No, but a friend of mine always throws a big New Year's Eve party. You should wear this."

"Yeah, right," she said, ignoring him as she pulled out a silky purple dress.

"Just try it on, okay? If you don't like it, no harm no foul. But with your ass, I think—"

"I really don't want to hear your thoughts on my ass. Ever," she said, grabbing the dress from him. "So I'll try it on if you'll shut up about it."

Oliver shrugged, readjusting the clothes he had draped over his arm. "Fine."

She grabbed a couple more dresses before she was ready for the dressing room. Oliver found a chair nearby and sat down to wait. He wasn't surprised when she exited the dressing room ten minutes later, only two dresses in her hand. Felicity was a pretty fast shopper compared to Laurel. He remembered spending hours outside dressing rooms as Laurel tried on practically everything in the store.

"I was right, wasn't I?" He smiled, pointing at the black dress.

"Shut up," she grumbled, as she moved past him and towards the cashier, but the small smile on her face as she gently placed her selections on the counter gave her away.

They moved from store to store quickly enough after that, Felicity occasionally trying things on. He was surprised to find that, despite her attitude, she was pretty easy to be around. He'd figured today would be awkward at best, infuriating at worst, but Felicity seemed to have a way of easing the tension without even trying. Sure, she was infuriating from time to time, but the way she babbled away about prices and colors and styles, joking and loosening up as they shopped… He was almost having a good time.

###

Oliver had skipped breakfast, so the salty, greasy smell in the air around the Big Belly Burger in the food court was enough to make his mouth water.

Felicity had gone to find them a table, but before she did she'd made him memorize and repeat her order back to her. He rolled his eyes. Her order wasn't even anything special. Just a Big Belly Deluxe with cheese, an order of fries, and a strawberry milkshake. He ordered it, along with his Belly Buster and coke, before finding his way over to the table Felicity had snagged for them. She was peering into one of the bags piled on the chair beside her.

"One Big Belly Chicken Supreme, coming right up," he said, placing the tray in front of her with a flourish. She whipped her head up so fast he wasn't sure how she didn't give herself whiplash. He laughed at her glare, throwing his hands up in front of him. "Joking, joking."

She huffed, closing up the bag she'd been poking through and turned to grab her meal. She carefully unwrapped her burger then dumped her fries on the wrapper beside it.

"You were right," he said, grabbing his own burger and nodding to the bags beside her. "About it being cheaper at the mall. Barely three hundred dollars for all of that."

"Yeah…" She hesitated, glancing up at him before dropping her eyes back to her food. "I'm sorry. For losing it over a sweater." She shook her head, closing her eyes. "It was stupid, I just…"

"Didn't want to compromise yourself more than necessary?" he supplied, softly.

Their eyes met and she gave him a small smile before tearing into her meal without another word. He followed suit, practically inhaling his meal.

"So you're from Vegas?" he asked after a minute, breaking the surprisingly comfortable silence that had settled between them.

She nodded, taking a long sip of her milkshake. "Yeah. Until I was sixteen, then I moved out here for college."

"At sixteen?" Oliver gawked at her, his burger dripping a mixture of mayonnaise and ketchup as it hung in the air between the table and his mouth.

She shrugged, biting the end off a fry. "I'm kind of a genius."

Oliver raised his eyebrows, a newfound respect for this girl before him. "I'd say. How old are you now?"

"Eighteen. Turning nineteen in February."

"But your mom still lives in Vegas?"

"Yeah, thank god. She would love to move out here to be closer to me, but she can't afford it," she said, finishing off her fry.

Oliver put his burger down, wiping his hands on his napkin. "So you guys don't get along? I know what that's like."

Felicity shrugged. "She just has very different priorities for me than I have for myself."

Oliver could relate. His parents wanted him to follow the path they'd planned out for him, but he had other interests. Right now those interests were mostly partying and girls, but so what? He was only twenty-two. He didn't want to wake up one day and realize he'd wasted his life following in his father's footsteps. He wanted to figure out what he wanted from life, on his own terms. That wasn't a ridiculous request, it wasn't. No matter what his parents said.

Felicity's voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see her picking at her fries and talking like she hadn't noticed he'd checked out of the conversation for a moment.

"She's a cocktail waitress at a casino," she was saying. "She works her ass off, but it doesn't pay great. She can't even afford to fix her car, which is why I agreed to help you. With the money you're paying me I can fix it for her, or better yet buy her a new one. Well," Felicity paused, cocking her head to the side, "a new used one, but hopefully it won't break down as much."

She babbled on , oblivious to the fact that Oliver was smiling at her. He had to admit, as much of a pain in the ass as she seemed, Felicity was actually kind of… sweet.

"And this definitely beats serving lunch specials at Murphy's Diner for the next six months trying to afford it," she laughed, taking a sip of her milkshake.

"I know Murphy's," Oliver said, digging back into his burger.

"Of course you do. It's drunk frat guy central on the weekends."

He rolled his eyes, but couldn't deny it. Murphy's was where everyone went after a party. Mostly because it was open 24/7, but the greasy food didn't hurt.

"I don't remember ever seeing you," he said.

"Probably because you were drunk," she teased, grinning. It was a good look on her, he'd noticed. "Nah, I don't remember seeing you either, so we probably never crossed paths. Or, I don't know, all you frat boys do kind of look the same to me."

"Thanks," he deadpanned.

She shrugged, her lips curving up in a tiny smirk as she went back to her meal.

He had to admit, joking around with her was kind of fun. And it was almost a relief to know he'd at least have _someone_ he didn't have to pretend around this week. He was beginning to think he'd made the right choice choosing Felicity to be his fake girlfriend.


	4. Chapter 4

The heat from the blow dryer burned Felicity's fingers. She was bent over at the waist, scrubbing one hand through freshly dyed hair, while the other maneuvered the blow dryer her mother had bought her back in high school. It was old and an ugly faded pink color, but it got the job done.

After shopping with Oliver—which had been surprisingly less excruciating than she'd thought it would be—she'd stopped at a grocery store for some hair dye. She'd only meant to pick up some black dye to cover up her purple streaks, because she had a sneaking suspicion that Oliver's mother wouldn't be into that kind of thing. Instead, a box labeled Glowing Blonde had caught her eye. It was an ugly shade, much too bright for her skin tone—not to mention temperament—and she ignored it, walking all the way to the end of the aisle where her usual shade of black sat. But she couldn't quite shake the thought that had taken root in her mind.

She'd never been one of those girls that wanted the whole blonde haired, blue eyed experience. In fact, she'd sort of went in the polar opposite direction after growing up with a mother who was all blonde curls. Still, without meaning to, she'd wandered back down the aisle, picking up the box of hair dye and staring at the model on the front. She looked like someone who would wear the clothes Felicity had spent so much of her day picking out to impress a woman she'd never even met. And she _was_ playing a part, right? A part that required a costume. She could always dye it back once she was done with this charade. She'd thrown the box in her basket, then moved on to the makeup aisle.

Felicity had always loved makeup. It was one of the few things she and her mother actually had in common. Lipstick always had a way of making her feel more confident and she had a feeling she was going need that confidence if she had any hope of pulling this act off. Since her go-to dark purple didn't fit the style she was going for, she'd had no problem throwing a handful of lighter red and pink shades into her basket before heading to the register.

Once she was sure her hair was dry, she stood up, flipping it over her shoulders. It was a puffy mess and she ran her fingers through it, trying to flatten it down so she could get a feel for the color. It was much lighter than she was used to, almost her mom's color.

 _If she could see me now_ , Felicity thought, shaking her head. Donna would probably faint from sheer happiness if she ever found out Felicity had dyed her hair blonde so that she could pretend to be a billionaire's girlfriend for Christmas.

She'd started dying her hair black to make a statement, to tell the world that she wasn't to be messed with. She'd needed the protection it offered back when she was sixteen and all alone in a strange city. Now though, seeing herself all fresh-faced and blonde…

She smiled, leaning in, turning her head this way and that. Grabbing the box of dye from where it sat on top in the trash can, she examined the woman's makeup and hairstyle. Felicity grabbed her makeup bag and the new lipsticks she'd purchased and got to work. She copied the model's style as best she could, going for a barely there look that was kind of the exact opposite of the style she'd been wearing the past three years. She liked it, though. It was different, but matched this new persona she'd created. And, because she was her, she added a pop of color in the form of her new bright pink lipstick.

Giving herself a once over in the bathroom mirror, Felicity had to admit she was kind of rocking this look. Aside from the lipstick, she'd managed to replicate the model's style almost exactly. The only real difference was the hair. The model's was shorter, more stylized, whereas Felicity's was long and blow dried straight. Opening a small draw in the vanity, she grabbed the pair of scissors she kept there. She took a deep breath, picking up a section of hair and chopping it off before she could talk herself out of it. The sheared strands drifted through her fingers, down to the tiled floor. She did it again, and again. Sectioning her hair into manageable pieces then cutting off several inches until she'd made her way around her whole head. When she was finished she took a step back to look at the final product.

She looked the part, like someone who'd go home with her boyfriend for the holidays. Like someone… happy.

She looked like the antithesis of herself, and she kind of liked it.

Shaking her head, she watched her now much shorter hair fall over her shoulders and decided hair up was definitely the way to go. She pulled her hair back, twisting it up with a ponytail holder from her makeup bag, then examined her work. She looked cute. Not insanely hot the way most of Oliver's girls probably did—all the ones he'd been talking to at the party had been, at least—but respectable. Someone a mother would like to see with her son.

Probably. Hopefully.

Felicity gave herself one last look in the mirror, then went back out to her bedroom to sort all of her new clothes into suitcases. She had two, but it would still be a tight fit and she knew it would take some time to get everything ready. She was meeting Oliver at the airport the day after tomorrow and she didn't want to leave anything until the last minute.

Dumping the bags of newly purchased clothes on the bed beside her suitcase, she began sorting and folding. It took a few minutes of strategizing, but she came up with a plan of action and set to work. She'd just finished packing her underwear when the door to her room burst open and her ex, Cooper, stormed in like he owned the place.

"Felicity, we need to talk!"

Cooper Seldon was a tech geek like her, and up until a week ago she would have said he was the love of her life. At the moment she kind of wanted to throw her new heels at his head.

He looked the same as he had the last time she'd seen him, with his dark hair flopping over his equally dark eyes. It felt like months ago, but really it had only been a few days. She'd seen him at the final exam for their programming class. He'd tried to get her attention afterwards, but she'd taken off. This wasn't even the first time he'd come by her dorm, but it was the first time he'd walked in without knocking.

"Cooper, what the hell?!" she said, using what her mother had always referred to as her loud voice. "You can't just come in here like that!"

Cooper did a double take, his mouth falling open when he laid eyes on her. "Felicity?" he gasped.

She ignored him, going back to her packing. "I don't want to talk to you, Coop."

Unfortunately, he didn't seem to care.

"What the hell is this?" he demanded, gesturing to her new hairstyle. "What the hell did you do?"

"What did _I_ do?" she hissed, slamming the yellow cardigan she was holding into the suitcase. "I dyed my hair, Cooper. I didn't steal someone else's work and pass it off as my own. Unlike someone else in this room," she muttered.

"Why?" he asked again, ignoring her anger in favor of his own.

Meeting his angry gaze with a glare she said, "That is not any of your business."

"You're my girlfriend."

 _"Ex_ -girlfriend," she emphasized. "I dumped you, Coop. Move on."

"Felicity, I'm sorry that I used your code without asking, but I needed it, babe. You know I've been working 24/7 on the super virus. I didn't have time to do Nakamura's amateur coding project." He pushed one of Felicity's neatly organized piles to the side and sat down on the mattress. "How can you still be mad about it?"

Felicity glared. "I can still be mad about it because it was a shitty thing to do. What you did was theft, Coop. You stole my code and told everyone it was yours. Do you know how that made me feel?"

"I wasn't trying to hurt you," he argued. "I just needed to hand something in and you—"

"I'm not arguing about this with you anymore, Cooper. We're over. I'm moving on. You need to, too," she interrupted, grabbing the pile of clothes he'd pushed over and dropping them into the suitcase. She'd have to redo the whole thing again once he was gone, but for now it was a poignant visual.

"Moving—" He glanced down at her suitcase for the first time, his forehead creasing in confusion. "Where are you going?"

If she wasn't so angry with him she might be flattered by the growing concern in his voice. Before she could think better of it, she shrugged her shoulders and said, "I'm spending the holidays in Starling City."

If he was going to barge into her dorm, she might as well have a little fun with him. She pulled a brand new purple dress out of the pile next to her suitcase and folded it neatly to join the rest of her luggage.

"Starling…?" Cooper said, standing up. He wasn't much taller than she was, but standing did give him a few inches on her. "Who do you know in Starling City?"

She shifted her gaze to him, but kept folding clothes. "Well, if you must know, Oliver Queen invited me to Christmas at his parents' house."

"You don't celebrate Christmas. And who the hell is Oliver Queen?" he demanded, before recognition lit his eyes and he narrowed them in her direction. "Wait, Queen? As in...?"

Felicity nodded serenely, enjoying the melt down she was witnessing. "Yup. The heir to the Queen Consolidated fortune."

"You're sleeping with Oliver Queen? Felicity, you hate guys like that. What the hell are you doing?"

"I told you," she said, picking up a cute patterned dress and adding it to the pile. "I'm moving on."

Cooper studied her for a moment. "Is that what this is about?" he asked, gesturing to her hair and outfit. "Did you do this for him?"

"I did this for me," she said, the anger slipping out before she could help herself.

The truth was, she had done it for her. She may have dyed her hair to fit the part Oliver wanted her to play, but she was the one who offered to help him. And it wasn't just the money promised, even though that was definitely the most compelling reason. Felicity just… she needed to get out of Boston.

This wasn't the first time Cooper had dropped by her dorm to talk, nor did she think it would be the last. And she didn't want to see him. Not right now. Maybe once she'd had time to process, but as of right now… she just couldn't be around him. It was too hard. She'd considered catching a flight out to Vegas to spend the holidays with her mom, but she didn't have that kind of cash, and her mom didn't either. Oliver was providing her with an out. She didn't mind helping him if it meant a break from Cooper's constant dogging.

"Cooper, I'm busy. Please get out of my room so I can finish packing."

Cooper looked like he wanted to argue more, but bit his tongue. He turned around, slamming the door behind him and Felicity breathed out a sigh of relief. Obviously, pretending to be involved with Oliver Queen wasn't exactly her first choice of holiday getaway, but spending a week at a billionaire's mansion couldn't be all bad, right?

###

Oliver knew from experience that the holidays were the worst time to travel. There were people everywhere, and they were always in such a hurry. Especially in the airport.

He moved through the crowded terminal swiftly, dodging people dragging their suitcases behind them. Ducking between groups and families. He was glad he wasn't bringing any luggage with him or else he'd be having a hell of a time keeping his pace. He'd told Felicity to meet him at the escalators at 11am and he was running a little late. Not that it really mattered much. His mother had booked him a private plane, so it wasn't like it was about to leave without him.

Weaving around a family with three young children all shouting about Disneyworld, Oliver spotted the escalators, but no Felicity. With an annoyed sigh, he put his back to the wall, then pulled out his phone.

 _You're not standing me up are you?_ he typed in a quick text, shooting it off to her before switching over to continue the conversation he'd been having with Tommy before he'd gotten to the airport.

 _I can't believe you started dating someone and didn't tell me_ , his friend had sent earlier this morning. _Is she hot? You gotta bring her to Max's for New Years._

Oliver nearly laughed at the thought of Felicity and the way she'd called him out for using women at the party last week. He couldn't even imagine what she'd have to say about Max Fuller's annual New Year's Eve party. He'd once seen Max kick a couple of girls out because they weren't hot enough. Felicity would probably have a conniption. The thought was oddly endearing and Oliver shook his head, typing back to his friend.

 _Yeah. It's not really her scene, but we'll make an appearance._

 _What do you mean?_ Tommy replied after a few seconds.

 _She's just not into parties_ , Oliver typed. _We were at a party last week and she was bored out of her mind._

That was true. Felicity had looked extremely bored at that party. Usually he liked a girl that could have a good time, but he knew that it was a bonus that Felicity wasn't really into it. His mother would love it, at least.

 _Sounds like Laurel,_ Tommy sent back and Oliver stared at his screen, thinking how completely untrue that statement was. Felicity, despite clearly being intelligent and strong-willed, shared little else with his ex.

He'd just started typing back to tell his friend exactly that when he noticed a short blonde girl approaching out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey," she said, wheeling a suitcase to a stop beside him. Another, smaller suitcase balanced on top and she laid her hand on it to keep it steady.

He expected a question about directions or something stupid so he ignored her, continuing to text back to Tommy, asking about their plans for the week. He wanted to get in at least one football game with the guys while he was home.

The girl shifted, huffing in irritation.

"What?" he asked, barely glancing up from his phone. "I'm waiting for someone."

"Yeah, dumbass. Me."

He gaped, really taking her in for the first time. She put a hand on her hip, rolling familiar blue eyes behind a pair of dark eyeglasses.

"Felicity?" he asked.

He'd only paid a few hundred dollars for that makeover, but damn did he get his money's worth. Her hair, that used to be jet black and hanging to her waist, was now blonde and pulled back into a tight ponytail, the tips brushing the base of her neck. And not that platinum blonde that a lot of the girls he knew went for, either. It was a soft, warm color and it looked good on her. So did the new outfit she was wearing; a pair of plain black jeans with a sweater. Even her face looked softer somehow, without all of that dark hair and makeup obscuring it.

She looked, in a word, cute.

He'd noticed she was attractive the first time he'd spoken to her, but this was different. Everything about her screamed _good girl_ and Oliver grinned.

"Holy shit, you nailed it," he said with a laugh. "You look perfect."

Mischief glinted in her eyes as she grinned up at him, and he could see the girl he'd gotten to know for the first time since she showed up. "The ponytail really makes the look, right? Sweet, non-threatening…"

"And the glasses," he said, reaching up to touch them. "They make you look like a total nerd."

She pulled back, swatting his hands away with a glare. "The glasses are actually mine."

Oliver shrugged, reaching for her suitcases. "C'mon, we're already late thanks to you."

"Thanks to me?" Felicity repeated as she hurried to keep up. Her boots tapped out a staccato pattern on the tiled floor as they swerved around a couple saying their goodbyes. "I was here at ten to eleven. It is not my fault you showed up twenty minutes late. I decided to go get a cup of coffee while I waited."

Oliver looked back, noticing the paper coffee cup in her hand. "Well, whatever. They'll have breakfast on the plane so you really didn't need it."

"Blegh, plane food," she groaned, and Oliver looked back at her with a smirk.

"I think you'll appreciate this plane's food."

###

Oliver hadn't been kidding when he said she'd appreciate the food on the plane. She took another bite of fluffy, delicious pancakes and leaned back in her plush leather seat.

The moment they'd boarded the private plane Oliver's mom had booked for them, an eager flight attendant in a blue button down and tie, had kindly offered them a breakfast menu, complete with any and all breakfast foods they could possibly want. Another attendant had delivered them two steaming mugs of coffee while they waited on the tarmac, and asked if they had any requests for inflight entertainment.

She'd known, of course, how wealthy Oliver was, but knowing it and flying in his private jet while people catered to her every whim were two very different things. She couldn't say it was an unpleasant experience, even take off had gone more smoothly than it normally did on a commercial flight, but it made her even more aware of the differences between them. Oliver was exactly the kind of person her mother spent all day catering to in Las Vegas, hoping for better tips. Rich, slightly arrogant, and too self involved to know any better. Not that she was complaining. Not when she was dousing her pancakes in expensive maple syrup.

"I guess the pancakes are good," he teased. He was sitting beside her, texting someone and occasionally taking bites from the plate of eggs and sausage sitting on the table—that's right, an actual table, not one of those crappy tray tables like you get flying coach—in front of him.

"So good." She moaned and she wasn't even embarrassed about it. Finishing off the last of her pancakes, she grabbed her mug, chasing down the sweet, buttery maple flavor with coffee. Such. Good. Coffee. God, it was so much better than that crappy airport coffee. Hell, it was better than the coffee they served at Murphy's.

Oliver reclined in his seat, tapping away on his phone. "If you like this, just wait until we get home and you taste Raisa's cooking."

"Who's Raisa?" She placed the mug down on the table and turned to face him.

"She's our housekeeper," Oliver said, still focused on whoever he was texting. "Well, one of them. She's an awesome cook. She'll probably be making most of the food this week. Except for the party. Mom always has that catered."

Felicity blinked. Oliver's family having multiple housekeepers wasn't surprising, the deep affection in his voice when he spoke of Raisa was. She had expected someone like him to be dismissive of the help, not talking up their cooking skills.

"Actually..." He clicked off his phone, arching off the seat to slip it into his pocket. "We should talk about what to expect this week."

"What do I need to know?"

Oliver scrunched his nose. "I kind of told my mom that I was being tutored…"

"I can do that. I used to tutor for extra cash last year, so it's not a stretch. Oh!" she said, an idea coming to her. "That should be how we met."

Oliver nodded. "That's good. What else?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. This was your idea."

Oliver leaned in his close so the flight attendant wouldn't overhear. "Believe it or not, I've never actually paid someone to be my girlfriend before."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, we need a backstory. Something simple. We met when you hired me to tutor you, and then…"

"Then I asked you out and my charm won you over."

"No," Felicity laughed. "Definitely not."

"What's wrong with that?"

"It needs to be believable," she said, raising an eyebrow.

He frowned, confusion twisting his features. "That's what I would do if we met and I was attracted to you."

A flash of irritation shot through her. She knew she wasn't his normal type, didn't even want to be his type, but it still stung to know he didn't find her attractive.

"Okay, you might've asked me out," she compromised, "but I didn't say yes. Not at first, at least. You want your mom to think you're changing, right? So what did you do to convince your intelligent, hardworking tutor to take a chance on you?"

"I worked really hard to please you during our… _sessions_." He smirked, wiggling his eyebrows obnoxiously, and she laughed.

"How about we say we've been friends for a few months, but only just started dating? That way it won't be so obvious if we slip up."

Oliver bit his lip. "Alright, so we met, like, three months ago when I hired you to be my tutor and we became friends, until you finally came to your senses" —he winked— "and we started dating."

"Until _you_ started taking your tutoring more seriously and convinced me you weren't all bad. That's probably fine, though. We just don't want to seem like complete strangers when we get there."

"We're not complete strangers," he said. "We did spend an entire day Pretty Woman-ing you."

She scoffed. "You did not Pretty Woman me, Oliver Queen." She sat up, eyes narrowing in the hope of conveying just how serious the next words out of her mouth were. "You're paying me to be your date for the holidays, but I am not a prostitute." The color drained from Oliver's face and he opened his mouth, but she didn't give him the chance to speak. "There will be no funny business, do you understand me?"

"That's… Felicity, I know that. I didn't expect—"

"Good." She gave a little nod. "Just so we're clear."

"But what about…" He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "You know, casual relationship stuff, though?"

"What do you mean? Like holding hands and stuff?" She gave him a look. "You don't seem like the holding hands type."

"You don't know me." A playfully offended expression crossed his face. "I love holding hands. I'm a pro at holding hands."

"Okay, then." She held her hand out for him. "Show me what you got then."

He clasped her hand in his, giving it a light squeeze. "See?" He gestured to their joined hands. "Warm, but not clammy. Just the right amount of pressure. Pro hand holder."

She laughed, pulling her hand back. "Fine, hand holding is on the table. And…" She sighed, reluctantly. "Cheek kisses are acceptable, but only" —she raised one finger in the air for emphasis— "if they're necessary. No lips, you hear me, big guy?"

"No lips," Oliver promised. "Got it. How about an occasional arm around the waist?"

She nodded. "Acceptable. But if your hand strays even one inch below the belt, it's coming back missing a finger."

He held his hands up, placatingly, then grinned. "Just so you know, feel free to touch me however you want while we're there."

She started to glare, but it quickly morphed into a mischievous look. Oliver's eyes narrowed, trying to decipher her thoughts no doubt, but it was too late. Felicity cocked back her arm, punching him right in the bicep.

"Ah!" He gripped his arm, turning to put some distance between them as if to protect himself from a second attack.

"I was just taking you up on your offer." She shrugged innocently, but couldn't stop a wicked smirk from forming on her lips.

Oliver gave up on playing hurt and shifted back into his seat. "So tell me more about you."

"I'm a computer science major at MIT."

"Really?" Oliver raised an eyebrow, looking impressed. "That's cool."

"What about you? Aside from your ability to come up with hairbrained schemes, I really don't know that much about you."

Oliver shrugged. "I'm majoring in business, but I hate it. I have a sister, Thea. She's twelve. I call her Speedy 'cause she was always chasing me and my best friend, Tommy, around when she was younger. You'll meet them both later. You said it was just you and your mom, right? Where's your dad?" She winced and it was enough that Oliver backtracked. "I mean, you don't have to tell me if—"

"It's fine. You should probably know anyway, for our rouse." Despite that, it still took her a long moment before she could finally force out the words. "My dad… left when I was seven. I barely remember him, except that he was the one who taught me how to build my first computer."

Oliver's mouth fell open the same way everyone's did when they found out. A mix of pity and embarrassment flickered across his face, and she waited for the inevitable, _I'm sorry_. Instead she got, "You built a computer when you were seven?"

She smiled, grateful he hadn't tried to comfort her or apologize. "I told you. I'm kind of a genius. I'm pretty sure my mom still has it. She moved to a new apartment last year, and I didn't get a chance to go home to help. It could have gotten lost in the shuffle."

"I'm sure your mom would have kept it. I think my mom still has art projects from when I was in kindergarten and, trust me, they're not nearly as impressive."

"My mom's not exactly…" Felicity sighed. "She means well, but my love of technology has never been a priority with her. Sometimes I think she would have preferred it if I _was_ someone who would date a guy like you." She smiled, imagining her mother's reaction. "Talk about a Hanukkah present. All I'd have to do is send her a photo of you and she'd die happy."

"Well, I won't stop you," he laughed.

"No, trust me, that is the last thing you want. Knowing my mom she'd figure out where you live and show up at your front door."

His one eyebrow flicked up in a move that, she hated to admit, somehow made him even more attractive. But before he could reply, a soft buzz cut through the silence and Oliver reached behind him, pulling out his phone. He smiled and then his fingers were flying across the screen, the conversation they'd just been having completely forgotten in the wake of whoever was texting him.

She rolled her eyes and reached down to grab her purse. It was a cute little black one they'd bought the other day. She pulled out her tablet and opened her most recent coding project.

If he was going to have his face buried in his phone for most of the flight, she might as well get some work done.


End file.
